


Oblivion

by SilverThroatedNightingale



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:25:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverThroatedNightingale/pseuds/SilverThroatedNightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People are dying across New York, with no apparent cause. Henry and Jo are on the case, but they find that the answer strikes far too close to home. What will Henry do, when he is confronted by his own driving question?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?_  
_And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?_  
Kahlil Gibran, _The Prophet_

“Let me _go_!” she hissed, trying to free her wrist from his grasp. He held more firmly, and reached for her other hand. It streaked towards him, something glinting against her leather glove, but though he was still panting from the chase, he was faster. Grabbing both wrists, he twisted her arms behind her, not particularly gently, and pushed her against the damp brick wall. She squirmed, trying to wiggle out of her coat. He twisted her arms a little further, and she whimpered in pain, dropping the object and quickly kicking it into the shadow of a heap of trash bags. 

Two of the policeman came panting into the pool of lamplight, and quickly cuffed her. She put up a half-hearted struggle after the snap of the cuffs, but when he crouched down, feeling for the object she had dropped, she cursed and lashed out at him. Quickly picking it up off the dirty sidewalk, he moved out of range of her boot heels.

It was a silver signet ring, very old, but untarnished. It was clearly well taken care of. He turned it over, examining it. The sigil was an unremarkable shield and lion, and the interior of the band was engraved with almost worn off Latin. There appeared to be nothing unusual about it, save its age. Maybe he was wrong—but he couldn’t be. She was the common denominator in all five deaths. The only common denominator, to be precise.

The rest of the policemen had caught up now, and both squad cars. The drizzling rain reflected the revolving lights. Someone was reading the girl her rights. He could feel the eyes of curious, cautious residents of the neighborhood, watching the scene unfold through their doors and windows. This was likely not an unusual sight—University Heights saw more arrests than many other New York neighborhoods. 

She had stopped struggling, and stood quietly, watching him inspect the ring. There was a sulky pout on her lips, and a too-assured watchfulness in her eyes. But when he stepped into the lamplight, and her eyes met his for the first time, she stiffened, the pout melting away immediately. Shock filled her face, followed by sheer panic. 

She wrenched hard, trying to get free of the officers holding her. This time her struggle was silent, desperate, frenzied. An officer pushed him away from the struggle. She managed to butt that officer in the stomach, hard, and slam another into the filthy wall. But four officers were too much, and she was forced, still struggling, into one of the squad cars, which took off down the glistening street, lights flashing, siren wailing.

He stood under the street lamp, staring through the misty rain after the lights. An uneasy, sinking feeling came over him as he remembered the look in her eyes, the naked fear of _him_. But in his entire life, he had never seen her before, he was sure of it. Did she know him? What had frightened her?

Who was she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will not receive regular/scheduled updates, as I am currently studying at university. I also have no idea how long it will end up being.  
> That being said, please enjoy, and feel free to comment! Thank you to those who have already left kudos, that was very sweet of you.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thirty-seven hours earlier…_

“NYPD Medical Examiner’s Office, Henry Morgan speaking.”

“We have another one, Henry.” Detective Jo Martinez’s voice sounded tired and angry through the phone line. Henry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, between his eyes. This made the fourth victim in a bizarre string of deaths.

“Let me guess. Male, between twenty and thirty-five, he walked through Central Park at some point in the last twelve hours, and had a falling-out with his girlfriend during the same period of time. Death occurred from massive internal and external bleeding, but no sign of a struggle or accident.” 

“Exactly,” Jo replied, and her deep sigh buzzed in his ear. Her frustration was almost palpable. Henry could picture her face, the wrinkles between her eyebrows, the set of her lips. “It’s exactly the same as the other three. Please tell me you’ve found something down at the morgue. It’s been almost four days, we have no leads, and it doesn’t look like whoever is doing this is about to stop.” Henry grimaced, sinking down into the chair behind his desk.

“I’m afraid I haven’t, Detective. The only thing I know for sure is that none of the deaths were induced by an infectious pathogen, as has already been announced to the press." 

"Small blessings," Jo muttered. 

"I have a feeling that everything will fall into place if we simply look at the situation from a different angle, but so far that angle eludes me.” Suddenly, Henry heard shouting erupt in the background on the other end of the line. 

“What is that, Jo? Are you all right?” He heard Jo swear under her breath.

“I’m sorry, Henry, I have to go. We have some of Michael Uba’s family members here at the station, who seem hell-bent on stirring up trouble. Please find something on this guy. He’s on his way down, and we need some answers—now.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Henry Morgan stared at the body lying on the examining table. The victim was a young man, appeared to be in his early twenties, and had probably been fairly handsome before his death. Now his entire body was swollen, discolored, and covered with dried blood. His eyes and mouth were wide open, frozen in a rictus of terror. Henry shook himself mentally; as an NYPD medical examiner, he saw the aftermath of grisly deaths on a regular basis, but these last few had been more disturbing than most. He turned to his assistant, who was standing silently beside him.

“Well, Lucas?” Lucas looked down at the clipboard he was holding.

“Aaron Carlisle, twenty-three, graduate student in economics at Columbia. Like the other victims, he had a temper. He and his girlfriend had a serious argument in Central Park around 8:30 am, a little less than ten hours before his body was found.”

Henry frowned, frustrated. So far everything followed the pattern: the age, the temper, and the argument. Not all of the disputes had occurred in public, but they had all been serious, and less than twelve hours before the victims’ deaths. The circumstances were unnerving in their similarity, yet no common thread had emerged.


	4. Chapter 4

Detective Jo Martinez sent up a silent prayer for patience, barely managing to keep from rolling her eyes. Rolando Apollo, the fat, greasy, unshaven creature inhabiting the apartment next to Aaron Carlisle’s, seemed incapable of answering a question clearly. He clearly had something to hide, but she suspected it had more to do with the sweet scent that she could barely detect beneath the reek of cheap beer and stale pizza, than Aaron Carlisle’s death.

“Mr. Apollo,” Hansen said, very evenly, “I’m sorry your back hurts, but we have a few more questions. You said that, to your knowledge, Mr. Carlisle returned to his apartment, alone, this morning. Is that correct?” The man squirmed in his chair, his eyes flickering towards the open doorway.

“Uh…yeah. That’s right. I heard him stomping up the stairs, and then he slammed his door real loud.”  


“About what time was that?” 

“I dunno. I was watching football.” Hansen exchanged a glance with Jo, frowning.

“Then how do you know he was alone?” At the question, the man seemed even more uncomfortable than before, if that was possible.

“Uhhh….” Hansen took a deep breath, preparing to pry the information out of the man, but Jo nudged him and winked.

“Mr. Apollo,” she said, stepping forward, “We’re trying to find someone who appears to be targeting men—good-looking men specifically. You could be next. Any information you can give would help us keep you, and the rest of New York’s most attractive men from dying the same way Mr. Carlisle did.” The man gaped like a fish, looking both flattered and frightened. But now his eyes were fixed on her, and he appeared to have forgotten about the door.

“How did you know he was alone, Mr. Apollo?”

“He knocked on my door,” the man said immediately.

“And why did he knock?” Apollo hesitated again.

“Uhh…uhh…he was complaining about a smell.” Jo swallowed the sudden urge to laugh. _Smell_ was an understatement. She would carry the stench of this filthy apartment on her for days, she was sure.

“So you answered the door?” Hansen asked quickly. The man looked relieved.

“Yeah, yeah, I did.”

“And was he alone?”

“Yeah. He was mad, too.” A sudden idea hit Jo.

“The football game you were watching,” she asked, ”what teams were playing?”

“The Ducks and the Bruins,” the pudgy man answered immediately. “He made me miss the first touchdown!”

“So, roughly between 10am and 10:10.” Hansen said. Jo looked at him, surprised. Hansen shrugged expansively.

“I like college ball. And I heard it was a good game.” Shaking her head, Jo turned back to the middle-aged man slouching in his dingy recliner.

“And you’re sure no one else went into or out of his apartment between that time, and a little before 6:30pm, when his girlfriend found his body?”

“Yeah, I woulda heard them come up the stairs. And besides, he woulda yelled at them. He was in a mood.” Hansen closed his notebook, and straightened his jacket.

“Thank you, Mr. Apollo. We’ll be back if we have any more questions.” They left the room, and walked down both flights of stairs in silence. Once outside, in the street, Hansen inhaled loudly. 

“Man, what a shit-hole! I’ve seen dirty apartments before, but that’s a whole new level.” Jo snorted in agreement, opening the driver’s door of the squad car.

“At least it wasn’t a total waste,” she said. “But I still don’t see how this all fits together. Who’s doing this? And how are they getting to the victims?” Hansen was silent for a moment, leaning against the other side of the car.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But we’re going to find out somehow.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Interesting…” Henry murmured, looking closely at the x-rays. “Lucas, do we have any record of Mr. Carlisle’s involvement in a physical altercation several hours before his death?” 

“No, nothing.” Lucas replied, flipping through pages of notes. He hopped off his stool, and came to stand beside Henry. “What did you find?” Henry pointed to one of the x-rays.

“Right there--look at his right cheekbone and orbital socket. There’s a hairline fracture.” Lucas squinted , then stepped back, surprise on his face.

“You’re right! But how do you know it was only a few hours before he died?” 

“I think you can answer that yourself, Lucas,” Henry replied, looking pointedly at him. Lucas grinned.

“Okay. Well…it hasn’t started healing yet, so it’s obviously recent.” Henry nodded.

“Go on.” Lucas paused, then his eyes went wide.

“Oh! The witness accounts!”

“Exactly,” Henry said. “No one mentioned seeing an injury to Mr. Carlisle’s face, even though this particular injury would have been extremely visible.” 

“And the manner of death obscured the injury when his body was found,” Lucas added. Henry nodded.

“Call Detective Martinez, Lucas. We may have just taken the first step towards finding our killer.”


	6. Chapter 6

_Armenia, Angora Province, 1915_

Someone was pressed against her back, others on either side. A small boy was sitting on her feet, still, silent, and wide-eyed. Somewhere behind her, a girl was crying softly. The crypt was dim, and crowded, and heavy with dread, as the living sat among the dead, praying to escape death themselves.

Suddenly, it was all too much. The girl felt as if she would choke if she stayed for another moment. She stumbled to her feet, and began to pick her way through the huddled bodies. In the dimness, she could faintly make out the door. 

A hand grabbed her ankle. She looked down, startled, and saw Anush, her face tense and pale. 

“Don’t go out there. Please.” The girl swallowed hard; her eyes twitched away from Anush’s pleading gaze. She reached down, brushing a strand of hair off the woman’s face.

“I can’t stay in here,” she said softly.

“Please,” Anush pleaded, trying to push herself up to her knees. Her belly, full and round with her unborn child, made it impossible, and she collapsed back down onto the ground with a desperate little whimper.

“Please,” she said again, a tear streaking down her face. The girl felt her stomach twist, stealing her breath. How could she explain?

“I can’t,” the girl gasped. She tore herself away, tripping over others, so many, she knew them all, she couldn’t stay, couldn’t breathe, oh god, let me out……..


End file.
